


dreaming when we're gone

by SuddenWhispers



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Baking, F/M, Garreg Mach Ball, Gen, Implied Relationships, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), holiday party
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-25 19:47:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21980875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuddenWhispers/pseuds/SuddenWhispers
Summary: A collection of short stories with prompts revolving around the holidays. Multi-ship.1 - Dorothea and Linhardt2 - Dorothea and Ferdinand3 - Bernadetta and Linhardt4 - Ingrid and Sylvain5 - Dimitri and Byleth
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth, Dorothea Arnault & Linhardt von Hevring, Ferdinand von Aegir/Dorothea Arnault, Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Linhardt von Hevring/Bernadetta von Varley
Comments: 1
Kudos: 58





	1. what do you do with a broken heart

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to challenge myself to write more so I took on a few holiday themed prompts, sat down and wrote. Hope you enjoy and thanks for reading!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorothea learns who her true friends are. Pre-Timeskip.

_what do you do with a broken heart_

_\--_

Garreg Mach is alive beneath the stars on the eve of the Ball. From within the main hall, students and faculty alike drink in merriment and dance to timeless Fodlan folk tunes strung together by only the most famous symphony of strings, hand plucked from the corners of the continent. Music swells around them with a grand tempo and chandeliers are adorned with crystal, glittering with such fervor that even the moon is jealous. 

Tonight, Dorothea shares that moonlit jealousy as she wallows alone, beneath the whispering willows that line the abandoned courtyard outside the classrooms. She believes this to be an enormous waste of an entire month spent in excitement for the only event that mattered in the entire school year. Earlier that day, she had spent countless hours combing through Edelgard’s snow hair and choosing which shade of crimson could frame her eyes so that only the most confident of men would dare to ask for a dance. Edelgard could hardly imagine why Dorothea would place such excruciatingly meticulous detail into something as trivial as a ball. 

“You nobles get to have all the fun. Let me enjoy this okay, Edie?”

Edelgard would have to forgive Dorothea later for leaving her with an entire hall of courting men. It’s true that Dorothea had been looking forward all month for this night. But between the guarded looks shot from her periphery and the hushed whispers from beneath her classmates’ breaths whenever she passed, she didn’t know how much more she could take of being center stage for all the wrong reasons.

“ _I heard she tried to get cozy with a noble from the south.”_

_“You think I have a chance or is her nose too high for someone of my social standing?”_

_“The gold digger is alone tonight - watch out or you’ll be her next target.”_

“Ah, Dorothea.” Linhardt stands in his classroom attire, pressed and decorated for the occasion. It was customary for nobles to wear their status in events such as these, Dorothea learned. “Fancy meeting you all the way out here.”

Linhardt has spent the last hour dodging eyeing women ready for the pounce while stuffing his sleeves with treats to bring back to Caspar, who had fallen ill days prior and would not be able to enjoy much food to their both of their dismay. 

She chuckles nervously. “Just getting some fresh air. You know nobles and their stuffy ways. Ah, sorry - I didn’t mean you of course.”

He waves his hand to gesture no harm taken. “I, for one, have had enough of that. I’ve shown my face and will now retire for the evening. Goodnight.”

“Lin!” A feeling of loneliness amplifies when she sees his turned back head straight for the dorms. She had set out to find someone to be with tonight only to end up alone with the moon. Any company would suffice. “I mean, won’t you stay with me awhile? Just before I head back in the battlefield, of course.” A lie - she most definitely would never set foot on that dance floor again.

Linhardt, who is notorious for doing what he wants, whenever he wants, does not object to her request and takes his seat next to Dorothea on the bench in line with the shrub brushes. 

“You know,” he begins to say, “I heard the most disturbing rumors circulating the hall. They’re about you, naturally. I don’t suppose you would care to hear them?”

Dorothea feels her stomach drop and at first the words don’t come out. She manages to swallow the fear compounding inside her to say, “It’s nothing that I haven’t heard before.”

“So you know already.” Then, silence. “And I don’t suppose that those baseless words are the reason you’re sitting out here, alone, dramatically in the moonlight waiting for your prince to come?”

Right as always, Dorothea thinks to herself. “You don’t miss a thing, Lin.”

Linhardt shrugs. “It’s just a pity that none of those fools will think to find a lovely lady such as yourself all the way out here.”

“You flatter me,” Dorothea laughs. 

“Why would I lie about that?” A faint smile, sheepish and shy, creeps in from the corners of his mouth. “Besides, it looks like you need to hear it from someone else before you believe it.”

Dorothea considers his words. It had never occurred to her that she had depended so heavily on the words and truths of others. Since when had she no truths of her own to uphold? 

“Thanks,” she eventually manages to say with a smile so genuine that she has not felt in years. “Maybe I was just waiting for someone like you to come around tonight.”

“Well, I hope you’re not too disappointed.” 

Linhardt pushes himself up from his seat and turns to Dorothea with an outstretched hand. “Well, shall we?”

“You’re going back to the main hall?” Linhardt doesn’t even dance. “I would think it’s more trouble than it's worth for you.”

“It’s troublesome, yes. But I don’t think my conscience would let me sleep tonight if I let my friend leave the ball with a broken heart.”

Dorothea can’t help but let out a hearty laugh as she accepts his gesture. “You’re a good friend, you know that, Lin?

“Now you’re flattering me.”

She smiles. “I wouldn’t say it if it weren’t true.”

\--

_Prompt: Holiday Party_

_\--_


	2. everything i wanted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorothea learns that happiness is fleeting. Pre-Timeskip.

_ “everything i wanted” _

_ \-- _

Dorothea dreamed that she was happy. It was not uncommon for her to drift away in the middle of Battle Strategy lecture, head slumped against a propped arm and a stifled yawn escaping her lips. Between the professor’s droning and the gentle snowfall peeking from behind the high windows, she felt the pull of slumber tug at her soul. 

Dorothea was not unhappy, however. She was doing the best she could, considering how she had to claw her way from the deepest corners of Enbarr’s slums to be viewed as even remotely close to being held on equal ground with the nobles. It gave her great pleasure to 

That evening, Dorothea dreamed that she had everything. In a moment, she stood solo across the vast emptiness of a stage that belonged only to her. In the next, she strolled hand in hand with a lover who had no face but all the love she could possibly ask for. For a brief lapse of time, she no longer had to seek respite in her desire for more. She had everything. She was happy.

But she knew that even happiness had to come to an end. Just like how the curtains must draw on the best performance or how lovers part ways in old age, even happiness had a price. 

Happiness comes with the fear of losing it. And in that moment, her happiness was being burned to the ground.

Suddenly, Dorothea felt her body quake, as if someone were trying to shake her mind out of her body. In the faint distance beyond the glowing embers rising around her, her name rang in desperation, a voice calling out for her to come home.

“ _ Dorothea, wake up!” _

Her eyelids flew open and her spine straightened against the chair she sat upon. A bead of sweat rolled down her temple as she unclenched fists blanched white from grasping at the blanket sprawled across her lap. Beside her, the main hall’s fireplace roared, its embers a ghostly remnant of the visions she had dreamed of. 

In front of her knelt Ferdinand, worry and concern in equal measure etched in the furrow of his brow and his hand clasped firmly onto her shoulder. She jerked back instinctively, unused to a classmate seeing her in such a vulnerable and sorry state. Ferdinand’s hold tightened as his eyes searched hers for signs of distress. 

“You were having a nightmare,” said Ferdinand. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Dorothea scoffed, narrowly regaining her composure and brushed his hand off her shoulder. “Even if I did, you would be the last person I would talk to about it.” 

Ferdinand sat himself across her and leaned in attentively. “Come now. I am all ears for a classmate in distress.”

As she readied herself to leave, a cool sensation trickled down the corner of her eyes. Were those tears? “Hey Ferdie, tell me this: did I say anything while I was dreaming?”

Ferdinand smiled a warm smile. “No, and even if you did, rest assured that I wouldn’t tell a soul about it.”

Dorothea considered his words, settling herself back into the chair. She took a hard look at Ferdinand and noticed how the angle of his jaw and the firm grasp of his hand on her shoulder were all too familiar, as if she had manifested him into her dream. 

“Then let me ask you this,” Dorothea started. “You’re happy being a noble, right? Aren’t you scared that one day, your title and everything that comes with it will just be stripped away?”

It was Ferdinand’s turn to consider her words. He placed a hand on his chin in contemplation before arriving at an answer. “No. Being a noble is not about the title or the perks that come with it.” He straightened himself, placing a tender hand over his heart. “Being a noble is all in your character and how you carry yourself. Those are things you cannot so easily take away.”

Dorothea was taken aback by the surprising humility of those words. She knew all about carrying oneself, being in the limelight for some time before enrolling into the Academy. But she also knew that it did not make her a noble. To hear a noble talk of character instead of relying on status, however, was as refreshing as a new song to the ears.

“Thank you for opening up to me. In return, let me tell you a little secret.” She signals him to lean in close, and suddenly she is acutely aware that this is the closest she has ever been to Ferdinand’s face. “Most commoners think that nobles have everything, but that comes with the price of being constantly in fear that one day, everything will be taken away.” 

Ferdinand smiles. “How very true, Dorothea.”

She watched his back as he walked away and figured for the first time that perhaps they were more alike than she had given him credit for. 

\--

_Making A Fire_

_\--_


	3. any more than a whisper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bernadetta and Linhardt share their silence. Pre-Timeskip.

_“any more than a whisper”_

_\--_

The eve of the Garreg Mach Ball is the loudest it has been since the first day of class. Girls chatter in passing about their hair and makeup for the event on the way to Strategies and Tactics while the boys poke fun at each other about who they will ask to dance. The monks are the busiest as they run back and forth in a frenzy between the church and main hall with ornaments to adorn the pews and tables with, all while not-so-carefully avoiding students stroll between classes. 

Everyone is friendly with delight and expectation. Bernadetta wants absolutely nothing to do with any of it.

Formal dances are not unheard of in the Varley household, yet she has yet to attend one for herself. Most of what she knows has come from midnight readings of her sizable young adult novel collection, where glittering lights and first dances dominate her memory and first love blossoms into the start of forever. Bernadetta holds great pleasure in plunging herself headfirst into the latest teenage romance story, but she would rather be caught dead than being the protagonist of one. 

Thus, she is certain that she will be missing this year's ball - the first in her long trek towards graduation from Garreg Mach. She has already shut out Dorothea’s relentless nagging to ‘crawl out of her cave’ and Edelgard’s threats to ‘face her fears’. Ferdinand’s persistence is the hardest to rid her presence from as he recites an hour-long lecture on the duty of noblemen such as themselves. She doesn’t know how much more of the noise she can take.

So she packs her bag - a bottle, a blanket and a book - and sets out for her secret spot in the monastery. It’s a small, occluded little place, hidden below and behind a broken piece of a boulder jetting out and shaping itself into a tiny cavern. Bernadetta had found it on a whim just searching for a place to shield herself from the sudden rainfall after a long journey back to her room. 

She knew that such a place is too good to be true to be left unnoticed by anyone else. That is why she is almost unsurprised by the sight of Linhardt sprawled out under its shade, his lanky legs peeking through his fleece blanket. 

“You should stay,” he says as she‘s quickly turning to leave. “You wanted some peace and quiet, am I wrong?”

A high pitched squeak escaped her mouth before her hands could cover it. “N-no, I’m sorry to have bothered you! I’ll leave right away-“

“Honestly, Bernadetta. I promise not to be a bother.” He pats at the ground nextto him, and Bernadetta is too frightened at the idea of saying no. “You see, I’m here on the same accord. It’s much too noisy up there with all the talk of the ball. Sounds like a hassle, if you ask me.”

“I know, right?” She is almost relieved to hear someone share similar sentiments. “Ah, I’m sorry if that offended you.” 

She decides to stay after weighing between her two options of company. Lindhardt has always been quiet and behind the scenes of their house, save for his occasional input regarding the up and coming trends of Crest research. Like Bernadetta, he has little patience for the commotion around him and because of this, she quickly gains respect for him.

He gives her a swift hush. “Do you hear that?”

Bernadetta closes her eyes and heightens her senses, straining to pick up the slightest sound. She searches amongst the sounds for an inkling, as if the world is whispering in her ears a song from the distant past, one with all the love and nostalgia that comes with the festivity of the first winter snowfall in the Empire. In her memories, bells ring in the distance, a faint jingle growing into a loud crescendo with every snowflake making landfall and absorbing into the barren soil. The sounds then fade into smells as a mixture of cinnamon and honey melts on the tip of her tongue and fills her nose at the same time. Its warmth against the cool whipped cream is an absolute delight, and though Bernadetta no longer remembers the name for this feeling, she knows it to be true, to have existed at a certain time and place and point in the history of Fodlan where perhaps it will fade into places like between the spines of books where people can read about but never experience for themselves. 

Bernadetta’s eyes fly open at the thought, tears unexpectedly streaming from its corners. She’s certain Linhardt eyes are elsewhere, lost somewhere amidst his own thoughts and memories of a time and place that no longer is. For him to show her the magic of such quiet, such solitude, she will be forever grateful.

She nods. “Yes,” her voice trembles into a wisp, “I can hear it.”

Linhardt smiles. “Good. I believe people forget the wonders that such silence can offer in times like these.” 

But she doesn’t answer. Any more than a whisper and she feels as if that magic will be lost. 

\--

_Holiday Songs_

_\--_


	4. i don't want to love you anymore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvain learns that there are some things you never outgrow. Pre-timeskip.

_ “i don’t want to love you anymore” _

_ \-- _

Sylvain doesn’t understand how he ended up in this situation. It’s the evening before the Garreg Mach Ball and the professor had the audacity to assign him not only the most difficult job of the week, but also to assign him the most strict and uncompromising partner alive. 

“Hey, partner!” Sylvain, who is an hour and a half late to their planned time, strolls into the kitchen with a nonchalant wave of a hand. “Ready to get this thing started?”

Sylvain doesn’t know what he did to deserve this. He’s almost certain that Ingrid is thinking the same in her head.

“How wonderful to finally be seeing you, Sylvain,” she says through gritted teeth, her dark eyes betraying her words. 

Sylvain gets a few whacks over the head before followed by a stern lecture before any work is done.

Late into the night, far past dining hall closing hours, Sylvain is mindlessly whipping the cream into limp peaks that slump over and over again in the mixing bowl. Thoughts of pretty girls in pretty dresses dance through his mind, a future projection of how tomorrow evening would be. He should be preparing his game tonight instead of making meringue that everyone will be too busy to eat because they’ll be taking their places on the dancefloor and escaping into the dead of night following the final song. Instead, he’s here - with one of the last women in Fodlan he would never be caught alone with if he could help it. 

Suddenly, Sylvain feels the bowl slip out of his hands and crash onto the floor with a shattering clang, cream splattering across the tile. It takes him a few seconds to register what has happened and from the muted distance he can just make out Ingrid’s exasperation. 

“Sylvain,” she sighes, “You should just go back upstairs. You’ll just slow us down. I can take it from here.”

Sylvain has half a mind to just that. He’s already running through his list of half-made excuses, just to show face. But a bitter taste bubbles in the back of his throat with the thought of leaving Ingrid, who does not deserve to shoulder his shortcomings, left with what was perhaps the most important task other than preparing the main hall itself. 

“Aww c’mon,” he says, finally settling on carefully planned words. “You know I couldn’t leave you here by yourself.”

He stoops down and begins to wipe the splatter, scooping up any salvageable cream. Ingrid does the same, allowing him to at least right his own mistake.

Sylvain points to some of the cream that reached her cheek. “Hey Ingrid, you got a little something on you.” 

She quickly wipes the wrong cheek and checks for residue on her hand only to find it still clean. “No,” Sylvain says, “let me get it.”

Out of pure instinct, she raises her arms, deflecting Sylvain’s reach with a sudden splash of flour she was left holding before she could place it on the table. In an instant, the kitchen is a powdered field covered in a snowy white that coats both Ingrid and Sylvain completely. The remaining powder seems to fall in slow motion, their stunned reactions too shocked to register what had happened.

Once the mess is registered, Sylvain shrugs, placing a sheepish hand behind his head. “I guess we’re going to have to add some sugar to this.” He takes the remaining sugar from the bag and grabs a fistful into his palm, dusting it over the floured field-made kitchen floor haphazardly. Adding damage to the insult was the least of their problems and at the rate they were progressing, they would be up all night in preparation for tomorrow.

Ingrid whisks the empty bag from his hands. “I can’t believe you! Stop wasting our resources.” 

“What do you mean? The entire kitchen may as well be our mixing bowl.” He continues to take ingredients one by one from the marble counter. “A dash of vanilla here, a pinch of salt there…”

Then Sylvain drops to the floor, sprawled into a star across the whited-out floor. “And we mix!”

Ingrid can only stare incredulously at her friend as his hands and legs make windshield wiping motions pushing against the mixture on the ground, his silhouette outlined into a snow angel like the ones they used to make in the Fhirdiad snow as children. Together, they recall their youth with hindsight clarity, as they had roamed the snow-covered fields of Fhirdiad’s outskirts hand in hand. Ingrid’s hands had always been small within Sylvain’s, who had grown considerably through the years. The snow angels they had made were tiny by comparison and they could only wonder what would happen when the future came and their bodies outgrew their angels. 

Now, they are nothing but Ethereal Moon dreams, memories to cling to and call home. 

To Sylvain’s surprise, Ingrid drops down next to him on the floor, sweeping her arms and legs in a similar fashion. When they rise to look down at their creations, they are pleased at the outcome of what was before a tragedy. 

“Our angels have gotten so big,” says Ingrid. “Looks like we never outgrew them.”

They stand side by side, Sylvain feeling the electric between the centimeters separating their fingers. How he wished he could hold her hand as they once did as children. But to do so now implies a love grander than he could hold, so he curls his fingers into a fist and leaves it at that.

“I guess there’s some things you never outgrow.”

\--

_Holiday Baking_

_\--_


	5. where my faith is without borders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The lines between dreams and reality blur for Dimitri. Post-Timeskip.

_ “where my faith is without borders” _

_ \-- _

The cobblestone lined streets of Garreg March are broken and divided. In the distance, the day sets over the church’s steeple, split down its spire into a spiral that fractures the sunlit rays. Fleeting memories of high school days strolling down these very same halls with books in hand are far-flung now, but even within this familiar ghost of a place, there are some things left to unearth.

Dimitri only has his right eye to guide him, but it is all he needs to make his way through the crumbling towers and destroyed scaffolding of the monastery. He stumbles across toppled over chairs of the main hall and uprooted trees of the courtyard across their old classrooms on his way to the pond, which is nowhere near viable for fish. He can hardly believe that he had once spent the majority of his days through these halls in playful banter with friends from different walks of life. 

This is what his eye sees. But his he is aware that his heart views something else entirely.

Like how her hair cascades along the sharp edge of her jaw, brushing off her shoulders in the wind as she swiftly made her way to the lecture hall. Or how the sweat beading on her brow could easily be mistaken for the splash of freshly caught fish along the lake. Beneath the high ceilings of the lecture hall, he imagines her pacing back and forth, stern and precise with her movements and words as his classmates raced to take down notes. On more than one occasion, he has found himself spacing out with flooding thoughts of them in the sauna with flushed cheeks and dripping steam. 

He sees these moments with such painful clarity that he feels as if he could just reach out his hand and touch her. An ache blooms in his chest, weighing heavy against every heartbeat. 

But he must be realistic - she will not look at him, the shadow of the boy she first met, the same way. 

Despite it, he has the same recurring dream every night.

In his dream, the sun sits at its zenith high above him. Fields of flowers in all types and species stretch in infinite sheets beyond him. The sight overwhelms and he feels as if he will be swallowed whole by the vastness of forever. But in the distance, a figure stands in the mist of petals and sunlight, her back against him with cape flowing beneath the wind. 

He advances to meet her, takes her by the wrist so that she turns to meet his gaze. A warm smile graces her lips, unsurprised to see him. His heart skips a beat and he feels the heat rising to his ears. She reaches her hand to his cheek, cradling it in her palm as he takes her other hand and presses his lips into her knuckles, sweet ivory against calloused fingers. His free hand wraps around her waist and guides her closer until they can feel their hearts beat out of their chest. 

He is always a fingers brush away from their lips meeting when he awakens. 

As he continues his trip through memories of ancient history, Dimitri stumbles across a figure in the distant cemetery. In her hands, a single flower sits laced in ribbon like a prayer. Red and orange hues shine a halo against ocean hair and Dimitri feels himself gaping ever so slightly.

He clears his throat and she is snapped from her trance to glance up at him. 

“Flowers for your father. You must be glad to be able to see him here again.”

She nods. “I’m glad to see everyone.”

He takes his place next to her, bows his head in respect for the late Jeralt. “Five years, ago, I never would have dreamed that this is the future we would be finding ourselves standing before.”

She shakes her head. “This doesn’t have to be it.”

Dimitri sighs. The thought of a future that could make up for the sins of the past seemed too out of reach for his hands. “I’m just trying to be realistic.”

She smiles a warm smile, reaches her hand to cradle his cheek beneath his eyepatch. Images of fields and flowers and feelings of warmth and belonging surge within him, looping through his veins again and again and again like a dream.

“There’s no harm in that,” she says. She pulls in closer, resting her hand on the plate of his chest. His hand hovers over the curve of her waist, hesitant yet electric with want. Does he pull away, or give in?

“But there’s also no harm in planning for a miracle, either.” 

_ \-- _

_ Prompt:  _ _Mistletoe_

_ \-- _


End file.
